


Submission

by StitchesgetBitches



Category: Lord of the Flies - William Golding
Genre: Abduction, M/M, Power Play, Starvation, Stockholm Syndrome, because im a fucking wreck, it said jack instead of ralph, jack is still obsessed with dominating ralph, originally in that tag, tags will be added as the work progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-08 03:13:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6836695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StitchesgetBitches/pseuds/StitchesgetBitches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rescue doesn't come (so original) and Jack gets Ralph. Jack is still set on getting Ralph to submit to him, and wants to break Ralph and get him to join his tribe rather than kill him. This story covers Ralph breaking and then his life after joining the tribe.</p><p>(I ACCIDENTALLY HAD THIS IN THE RAPE/NON-CON TAG, BUT I'M NOT PUTTING THAT IN I MEANT TO CLICK UNDERAGE)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

His legs hurt, his lungs burned, his eyes watered, and his heart pounded against his chest. But he had to keep running. He had to escape. Was there escape?? Where cold he go where they would not find him? Likely he would be found anywhere, Jack has bragged plenty about how he and his hunters have been around all the island. There was nowhere he would be safe. 

He emerged from the smokey forest, dashing along the sand. He heard the shouts and chants echoing from the woods, and he tried going faster. But sand worked against him and he fell, but he wouldn't stop. He crawled, as fast as he, could, until he just stopped. He was tired, and there was nowhere he could go. Tears were in his eyes, and he was alone. No one would save him. Not Simon, not Piggy. 

The chanting and screaming, it just got closer and closer. He hated how weak and alone he was. He hates the dirty tricks, the savagery. He wished jack would have just listened. 

But he didn't. And because he chose to leave, to have his own tribe, Ralph was about to die. He was about to be killed at the hands of those he once considered friends. The boys closed in on him, but they didn't kill him. They prodded at him, and hit him, but they weren't killing him. It made Ralph want to sob, he just wanted it to be over. 

It stopped shortly after it started, but the loss of the beatings didn't comfort Ralph much at all. He knew there was a reason, that it wasn't out of the kindness of their hearts. And he was right. Because the circle of boys broke apart, and Jack stood before him. 

Jack looked awful. He looked savage. He was painted and held in his hand the spear sharpened at both ends. Ralph was sore, and even bleeding some. He looked up at Jack, breathing heavy and ragged from the run and from the pain as well. Jacks expression was rather blank, but there was a cruelty in his eyes. Ralph hadn't always seen it there. Had it always been there? 

Jack stared down at him, and while Ralph was waiting for a blow from the spear held in his hands, he instead got a solid blow to the chest, sending him backwards. The sand digging into shallow cuts from the boys prodding at him was a horrible feeling, but he wouldn't consider it the worst. After all, he is expecting death from this. 

Instead, he heard Jacks voice, angry and loud, “Tie him up! Take him to Castle Rock!” and Ralph felt his heart drop. Couldn't he just kill him now?? Why did this have to wait until castle rock?? He felt so many hands on his body. Shoving him around, tying his ankles and wrists, before he was lifted via stick. Like a pig. 

The entire time they carried him to castle rock, they chanted, and cheered. Samneric's cheers lacked enthusiasm, however. They were unhappy watching their friend be hurt, be killed. But they had to come, they had to participate or they would get hurt. It was awful. 

Once at castle rock, Ralph was cut free, but immediately tied once more, shoved into a cave. Two boys with spears stayed behind, while the rest danced around a fire, recreating the 'hunt'. It was sick. Ralph felt sick. He refrained from expressing it however, just sitting against the farthest wall in the cave (which wasn't very far, the fave was at most 6 feet long deep) and pulled his knees to his chest, resting his face on his knees. He feels tears burning the corners of his eyes, and he can't help but begin to sob. 

Why won't they just kill him?? That's what Jack want's right?? Why must it take so long. He feels like his stomach is turning into a knot, and he hates it. He closes his eyes, and tries to force himself to sleep. 

And for a while, he at least gets that. He gets to sleep. He doesn't dream, but he is thankful for that. Had he dreamt Jack would have been there, his hunters. Simon would have been there, and so would piggy. He wasn't ready to face the twisted dreams this islands experiences produce. 

But like all good things, it comes to an end. It ends quickly. He wakes up when the feels arms grabbing him, yanking him to his feet and practically dragging him out of the cave. He is dazed from his sleep, and doesn't have his feet under him when they let him go, and he collapses to the ground. He takes a second to gather himself, before there's a new pair of hands, grabbing his shirt and pulling him up to his knees. 

His eyes narrow when he sees the person in front of him, the person crouched before him who's hand is gripping the fabric of Ralphs shirt. Jack. They were watched by Jacks entire tribe, who had grown silent. It was unnerving. Ralph didn't look at them, though. He looked at Jack. 

Jacks eyes were dark, and focused on Ralphs, and there's a moment longer of just silence before Jack speaks, his voice loud, so that his entire tribe can hear, “You've been nothing but a nuisance since I left your tribe, Ralph,” He stands, pushing as he lets go of Ralphs shirt, and while Ralph doesn't have his hands free to catch himself, he managed to keep his back from hitting the ground by catching himself on his elbows. 

“You would be better off dead, wouldn't you?” his hunters cheered at the notion, because they agreed. Whether their agreement stemmed from manipulation, alliance, or fear was irrelevant. Ralph looks around at Jacks tribe, at his old companions, before snapping his attention back to Jack as he continues speaking, “You would be less of an irritation with your head on a stick, left as an offering to the Beast.” Ralph cringes, and shies back as Jack kneels next to him. Jack leans in close, that smug grin on his face, that grin he gets when things are working his way, “But the same effect would come of you joining my tribe.” 

The boys went quiet again, watching Jack. Its not so much they were surprised by the suggestion as they were unexpecting. Jack seemed pretty content with the idea of killing Ralph, but it seems he is still more attached to the idea of finally winning dominance over Ralph, finally getting Ralph to submit to him. 

Ralphs eyes widen a little at the offer, before narrowing in a glare, “Why would I join your tribe? After all you've done, why would I ever join you?! You're more than just a beast or swine or a thief. You're a fool as well.” There was a fuss amongst the hunters, and that grin fell from Jacks face. He looked angry. 

After all he's done, after hes proved himself time and time again, Ralph still refuses to yield to him. He takes a deep breath, standing straight again, looking at the two who had been posted at the opening of Ralphs cave-- perhaps better put as Ralphs cell, “Put him back. Make sure he gets nothing to eat or drink.” 

Ralph is angry, and hurt, and he doesn't wipe the glare off of his face as hes lifted again, and hauled off. He sits against the same wall, and ignores the boys mocking and taunting him. He doesn't even bother trying to recognize them. He just fumes in his own corner, glaring at the ground. Why can Jack just kill him?? What is the point in this power game he plays?? 

Whatever the point is, it is left unknown, because he closes his eyes, and wills himself back into sleep. He dreams this time. And as he had feared, his dreams are haunted by the faces of his dead friends, by the hunters, and above all else, by Jack.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this over the course of 48 hours, mostly at the late hours of the night, and I didn't proofread it, so Im sorry for all the times I may or may not have called Ralph Jack and vice versa. Because I know I was tired enough to make that mistake at least 3 times just tonight (but those that I noticed got fixed ;0)   
> I hope you enjoy  
> I'm gonna try and update quickly (once every few days would be nice, but probably more likely to be once a week once the hype of writing this goes down) so check back!

Ralph sleeps longer than he thought he would. When he wakes up, there's only one boy at the opening of his gate, a different boy. It was Roger. Roger was absentmindedly killing bugs with the blunt end of his spear, only glancing at Ralph momentarily when he sees movement out of the corner of his eye. 

Roger wasn't much of a talker, and that was something Ralph was grateful for. He wasn't in the mood for conversation. He was barely in the mood to be angry anymore. He felt hungry. It hadn't been too long since he last ate, so the hunger pain wasn't unbearable, but it still irritated him. 

He sits in silence for a few hours. No one came to talk to Roger. Perhaps because no one would like to. Not that Ralph would know why, he was never around when Jack had boys flogged for whatever reason he saw fit. He was with his own tribe. Before, well, those in it were taken from him by force or killed. 

He loses himself in thought, and when he finally comes back to his senses, its disturbingly quiet. He feels hungrier, but will ignore it until the feeling dulls so much he practically doesn't even notice it anymore. He looks at Roger, and shifts a little. When he moves, he realizes his arms have gone numb from being lain on, and his ankles are sore from the vines binding them digging into his skin. There's a few moments more of silence before he speaks, “Where's everyone gone?” 

Roger looks at him, eyes narrowing a bit. He doesn't answer right away, instead looking back to the ground and continuing doing what he had been doing before, which seemed to have gone from crushing bugs to twisting the sharp end of his spear into the rock beneath his feet until it does, then sharpening it again. 

“They've gone hunting,” he says, voice quiet and frustrated, “And because of you, I couldn't go.” Ralph bites his tongue a little, nervous at the harshness in Rogers voice. He shifts again, looking back down at the rock. He decides to pull his knees from his chest, and stretch them out in front of him. 

The rest of the evening remains silent, but its not terribly long before there that chanting as the savages return from their hunt. He clenches his jaw a little, and a feeling of unease settles in his stomach. He remains silent, of course, when Maurice comes over to tell Roger that he was allowed to join them for the feast. 

He was spared a glance by Maurice, and the look carried pity. Pity for Ralph, of course, pity Ralph didn't want or need. He wants to leave, but his attempt to free his wrists was one that was short lived. His stomach hurt and his body hurt, no doubt covered in bruises and scabs. He gives up, because he won't escape. Not unless he squirms away like a worm, but with all the rises and falls of Castle Rock, its unlikely he would reach freedom even if there were no one there to watch him. 

So he sits back, the smell of cooking pigs flesh tormenting him. He was so hungry, and so very thirsty. But Jack would give him nothing. 

Once all the craziness dies down, and some of the littluns even lay down to sleep, Jack peers through the opening of the cave. Ralph stares at him, hatred in his eyes. In his hands, Jack held food. No water, however. 

Jack doesn't take long to speak, his voice confident, “Would you like to eat?” His voice is rather cocky, and not to Ralphs liking. But he responded with a small nod, eyes dropping to look at the meat in Jacks hand before rising again to look him in the eyes. Jack steps forward a little, “Well if you do you'll join my tribe,” that bastard smirk spreads on his lips, “If you don't you can go another night without.” 

Ralph glares at Jack, and leans back, almost pressing into the wall. He shouldn't have expected Jack to just have decided to go back on the decision to starve him. He should have realized there was a point to it. But why this? Why not beatings or things of that nature? Why this, something so frustratingly slowly? 

“I won't join you, Jack,” he says, glare hardening, “Not now, not tomorrow, not even when I rot.” he doesn't know how true his words are. He knows his father has always told him starving and dehydration are the worst ways to go. At least, of ways likely to die. 

Jack stares at him a moment longer, and the spark in his eyes- the frustration- it wills Ralph to stand his ground. Well, metaphorically, with his ankles being bound and all he couldn't actually stand at all. Jack stands, turning his back on Ralph, speaking as he walks away with food in hand, “Be it your way, Ralph.” he dismisses Ralphs stubbornness with fake acceptance. 

With that, he leaves. Not another word said. 

Days pass, and the pain becomes unbearable. He feels horrible. Sick, even. He doesn't have much energy to move, and above anything else he wants water. Jack hasn't come to visit him again, but Sam 'n' Eric talk to him when they're posted at the caves entrance. They've advised Ralph to just give in, made promises that it would be better for him to just give in and do what Jack wanted. 

Ralph had reached a point he would do anything for water. He felt even to the point of delusions now, and it would take very little persuasion to get him to break. He didn't like that. He didn't like how far his desperation dragged him. How he was willing to break under Jacks influence. 

It was 5 days after Jacks first appearance, and he stepped inside the cave, Sam 'n' Eric (who had been following him) stood behind him, waiting at the door. Sam held in his hands, meat. Part of the kill for he night. What Eric held was a carved wooden bowl, whose contents were best assumed to be water. 

Ralph looks at the two, almost as if in a daze. He hardly even notices as Jack crouches beside him, only looking at him when Jack forcefully takes his face in his hand and turns it to be looking him in the eyes. 

Ralph hates looking Jack in they eyes. He hates the way Jacks eyes have changed, how they went from that steady and solid head boy to this savage. But he also hated how his own eyes looked. Worn down, perhaps maybe even already broken. 

Jack looks at him, takes in the worn down look in Ralphs eyes, the weakness in his limbs and movements. It was a wonderful sight in Jacks eyes. It means he was finally getting what he so dearly desired. 

“I'll ask you again, Ralph,” he says, “Will you join me or will you starve?” The confidence in his voice was enough to make Ralph wince, and want to look away. But, with the hand on his jaw, looking away wasn't much of an option. 

He stares at Jack, not giving him an answer. He wonders if he should even answer at all. He knows that if nothing else, should he give Jack an answer the answer would definitely be a yes. He could barely even consider the idea of putting himself through more of this. 

He remembers when he was younger, his father said that a man could only go so long without water before he falls ill and dies. He remembers it being described as a very uncomfortable way to go. 

When Ralph seems to space out, Jack shakes his face a little, trying to get back Ralphs attention, “I asked you a question Ralph. Will you wither away in this cave, or will you join me?” Ralph looked him in the eyes once more as he spoke, and willed himself to wrap his head around his options. 

He knew not answering a second time would get him left there, and was pretty much the same as saying no directly. He still considers that to be a fine option, but an ache in his stomach reminds him how hard it is, how painful. He doesn't take much longer before he nods his head, closing his eyes. He feels defeated. It's not a very nice feeling, and he's tired of feeling that way because of Jack. 

Jack grins widely, proudly, like he had won. But before Sam 'n' Eric could step forward and try to nourish their friend, Jack raises a hand to stop them. “I want you to say it. Out loud, so I hear you.” 

Ralph opens his eyes again, looking up at Jack. Not only did he not want to admit defeat out loud, but he was so tired and he hadn't spoken in days. 3, he thinks, since his last conversation with Sam 'n' Eric. At least, the last one he had the energy to respond to. 

He opens his mouth to speak, but at first, no words come out. He closes his lips again, swallowing despite lacking sufficient moisture, and he tries again. This time, the words do come out, but they sound dry and broken, “I'll join you, Jack.” he didn't look Jack in the eyes when he spoke, but Jack seemed content with as much as he got. He stood, and waved Sam 'n' Eric over, stepping out of the way so the boys went over to Ralph.

Jack saw Sam going to untie Ralphs hands, and spoke suddenly, “Keep him bound.” He didn't want to allow Ralph that freedom, it was late, and they would wake in the morning to Ralph having run off. It would be a pain to run him down again. 

The littluns listened, however. Sam simply raised the bowl of water of Ralphs lips and let him drink, and there was steady alternation between food and drink for a while, until the bowl became empty and Ralph had his fill of the meat. 

The boys were then told to go, and they obeyed. Jack still stood there, eyes on Ralph, before he began making his way towards the opening of the cave, to go to his own hut-like shelter, but not before he speaks one last time, “Tomorrow you will get your paint, and as soon as you are well enough you will go on the hunts. Rest well, Ralph.” 

 

Ralph didn't think much on anything. He just enjoyed the full feeling, the quenched thirst. Well, not quenched, he was still thirsty. One bowl of water wouldn't save him from days without water, but he felt better than he had an hour ago. 

He decides to lay down for the first time, moving his legs to help guide his body into a comfortable position, and then he closes his eyes, and he welcomes sleep. His dreams are still haunted by the faces of his dead friends- one he helped to kill, one he watched die. He was still tormented even in his dreams by the hunters, and by Jack. But this time, in his dream, he, himself, had paint on his body and a spear in his hand. 

He's never hated a dream as much as he hates this one.


End file.
